


Not a coward

by beck_a_la



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, SMUTTY SMUT, i just love these guys ok?, like nobody else, tag for 1x12, they give me feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 18:48:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1754489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beck_a_la/pseuds/beck_a_la
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy can't stop thinking about what Murphy said. Clarke helps him out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not a coward

**Author's Note:**

> 2nd fic ever, 1st in this fandom. Unbeta'ed blah blah blah.
> 
> An episode tag for "We Are Grounders," sort of- conveniently ignoring the fact that they're actually packing the camp for an evacuation.

Bellamy hears someone climbing the ladder to the top of the drop ship and thinks about getting up, making it look like he was busy inventorying ammo or something but then Clarke's voice carries up the ladder and he relaxes.

"Raven's going to be ok. It was a through-and-through, luckily, and it missed everything vital. I've got the bleeding stopped, so she should be-"

Clarke reaches the top of the ladder and looks around in confusion. "Bellamy? Are you up here?"

And then she sees him, sitting on the floor in the darkest corner of the ship he can find, and she immediately moves to sit down next to him.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

Bellamy doesn't answer, just scoots over a bit to give her room. She leans back against the wall, their shoulders touching, enjoying the relative peace in this deserted corner of the camp. The silence stretches on for a few moments, and then-

"I can't stop thinking about what he said. Murphy. He said I- he called me a coward. And he's right. Every terrible thing I have done has been because I was scared."

Clarke makes a noise of protest, shifting slightly to look at him.

"It's true, Princess. I am a coward and I have killed because of it. And tortured because of it. And everything that happened to Murphy is my fault, if I hadn't been too afraid to stand up to the mob-"

And now Clarke has moved, kneeling in front of him in the valley between his knees, and her hands are cupping his face- her impossibly soft palms just below his ears, her fingers threading through the curls at the base of his neck, her thumbs ghosting softly over his cheeks- and he has to close his eyes because he knows that if he looks at her right now he'll break.

"Bellamy, look at me." Blue eyes staring with such intensity into his- "You are not a coward. You are the bravest man I know. What happened to Murphy is more my fault than yours- If I had just listened to you to begin with none of this would have happened, he would never have been taken by the Grounders, Charlotte might still be alive. It is not your fault. And you are not a coward. Do you understand me?"

She leans her forehead against his and he clenches his fists at his sides. 

"You almost died today. I don't know what I would have done if Murphy had killed you, if Raven hadn't gotten the door open in time-"

"There was a moment. Right before the door opened. When I thought that you were gone- that the Grounders had killed you, and I would never see you again, and I-"

One of Clarke's hands has moved to lay on his chest, just over his heart, and he closes his eyes again because the look on her face is just too much for him to take right now. Her forehead leaves his, she's pulling away and he opens his eyes, to reach for her, to pull her back to him, but she is leaning forward and pressing soft, soft, delicate whispering kisses to his neck, to the ugly purple bruises that Murphy's noose left on his throat, and his hands move of their own accord, wrapping around her waist. Silently, the only sound in the room his shaky breathing, Clarke covers every inch of his neck in feathery kisses. 

She looks at him, suddenly unsure, and he leans forward- an inch is all it takes, and Clarke is meeting his mouth with hers, and she is so warm, and so soft, and his hands are running up and down her back and she is still cupping his face, and her eyes flutter shut as her mouth opens for him and suddenly there is nothing gentle about this kissing anymore. Desperation is coursing through him, hot need filling his veins and there are tongues and teeth and his Princess moans in her throat as his hands slip under her shirt, caressing the skin of her back. 

She breaks the kiss as he pulls her shirt over her head, and she stands up, moves towards the hatch- he thinks he's gone too far, she doesn't want this, doesn't want him, but she is closing the hatch, putting the metal rod through the wheel so no one can disturb them. 

"Princess-" he croaks out, his voice raw from emotion, from yelling, from the noose, "Princess, I can't-" and she's moving back to him with confusion on her face. "Clarke." And that stops her in her tracks. She is standing in front of him in her bra and blood-spattered pants and she is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen and he knows he has to stop this, has to stop it now before they ruin any chance they have of being happy, of working together, of leading their people into not just surviving, but living.

"Clarke, I've never been with someone that- someone that I care about. And I don't think I'll make it if we do this and-"

"And what?"

"And you run back to him. To Spacewalker. If this is a pity fuck, if you're just trying to make me feel better, I can't-"

And she is kneeling in front of him again, her hands smoothing his hair off of his forehead, and he tries to look away but she won't let him.

"Finn broke my heart, Bellamy. I won't go running back to him. Not now, not ever." And he feels like there is a vice around his chest, but Clarke is still talking- "I need you. I need you to help me make the hard decisions, to keep me in check, to tell me when I'm being an idiot. I need you to keep me sane, to keep me feeling like a person. But more than that, Bell. It's more than just need. I want you, too. I want you to be the one I talk to, I confide in. I want you. Only you."

And he is leaning forward again, capturing her lips again, with the raw hot need in his blood and she is melting into him, straddling his lap and tugging his shirt up, over his head and now it's his turn to cover her neck in kisses, trailing down the column of her throat to the creamy valley between her breasts. He makes short work of her bra as her hands tangle in his hair and her head falls back, one of his hands cupping a perfect mound while his tongue laves circles around her nipple. 

He wants to draw this out, to remember every second of it, to make it last as long as possible. He wants to make slow, sweet love to this beautiful woman he doesn't feel he could ever possibly deserve, but she is struggling with the button on his pants and suddenly nothing is as important as being inside of her, of being one with her. 

They are struggling with shoe laces, and Clarke almost tips over as she tries to pull her pants off without standing up. He catches her, strong arms around her waist, and she giggles- pure, unadulterated joy escaping from her and he can't help but laugh with her, and she's kissing him and he can feel her smiling through the kiss and he doesn't think he'll ever be this happy again. And suddenly they're both naked, and she is lying on the cold floor of the dropship and he pulls back to look at her, to really drink her in, her pale skin and gorgeous blonde hair fanned out around her head. She's studying him, eyes trained on his face, and she reaches a hand up towards him, an invitation. 

"Bell?" And with his name on her lips, he lowers himself over her, and she wraps her arms around his neck. "I want you, Bellamy. Please?" 

And the breathless earnest tone, and her blue eyes locked with his, and he slowly guides himself inside of her. He closes his eyes and sucks in a breath because she feels so good, slick and warm and tight, and he wants to stay just like this forever but she clenches around his length and his hips buck, and now he's slowly thrusting, memorizing every sound she makes as he moves inside of her. She wraps her legs around his waist, drawing him deeper inside of her, and he rubs his thumb across the bud of her clit and she keens and shudders and he thrusts faster until her back arches and he feels her fluttering around him. 

Clarke rolls them over, straddling his hips and grinding herself down on his length. His hands are gripping her ass as she rocks herself up and down on him, and he is meeting her thrust for thrust. Clarke's nails dig into the muscles of his chest as she rides him, and his thrusts become erratic as he draws closer to climaxing. One of her hands drops down to rub across her clit and she throws her head back in open-mouthed pleasure at the sensation. The sight of her sends him over the edge and he spills himself inside of her, hips finally stilling, and Clarke lowers herself to press an electric kiss to his lips. 

She lays on top of him as they recover their breath, neither feeling the need to speak. Sated, content for the first time he can remember, with his Princess using his chest as a pillow and his hands drawing lazy patterns on her back, he thinks that maybe they have a chance.


End file.
